Two days after Tom had signed the highway contract, Babcock sat in his
private office in New York, opening his mail. In the outside room
were half a dozen employees--engineers and others--awaiting their
instructions.
The fine spring weather had come and work had been started in every
direction, including the second section of the sea-wall at the depot,
where the divers were preparing the bottom for the layers of concrete.
Tom's carts had hauled the stone.
Tucked into the pile of letters heaped before him, Babcock's quick eye
caught the corner of a telegram. It read as follows:--
Mother hurt. Wants you immediately. Please come.